The Nursery Scream and Edges

Soooo, yesterday, I dropped Masie out to her Kid's Day Out program and instead of her normal apathy upon leaving her, she wailed like I was dropping her off to the baby eating monster. She screamed, looked at me with wild eyes, and tried to jump out of Miss Angela's arms. I was horrified. Another mother came to my rescue and said, "How you react to this is very important. Quickly grab your stuff and leave." I listened to her but cried on the drive home. Intellectually, I knew I needed some time to myself, but emotionally, irrationally, I felt like I was abandoning my sweet daughter. I hated that I couldn't explain things to her.... She ended up doing fine.

Garland and I went for a walk yesterday, and poor Kat came driving up in our Jetta, explaining that the key refused to budge out of the ignition. Sure enough, it was stuck. (and still is) So funny. She said, "I just keep driving around because I don't know what to do!" :)

Over dinner the other night, Heath and I started talking about a friend of his and his need for a girl with an "edge." Heath went on to tell me that I had lost mine, whereupon I harped on about the fact that I had not. So, what is an edge anyway? A certain wildness? Drinking cocktails with abandon, dancing on tables, wearing all black, peppering your language with unsuspecting obscenities, crazy sex in cars?

Perhaps an edge has more to do with being different than people expect? I consider Heath to have an edge because in many ways, he is completely different than he appears to most. Most people would assume him to be conservative, when in fact, he rocks out to Tool and is in support of gay marriage. He is comfortable most settings, a refined wine bar, the industrial scene...

My edge is more what I think than what I do, especially now that I am a mother of a small child. I want to have fun but that desire is often overridden by my concern for Masie and her well being. I think of her first, and assume, rightly so, that I am the person that must be the responsible one. Men can let go and not worry. Mothers mostly do not. We worry more. My edge is my artistic side however neglected. It is my insane desire to spill words on paper and paint onto canvas. It is my nack of feeling comfortable saying shocking things in calm settings and watching the words stir around the air and make everyone talk, or at least think about what they would say.

The bottom line is this: I do not drink until I slur any more, I do not have late nights at bars, or completely let go. It is not the time in my life to do this. I am at a different place. My edge is different now. It has to be.

I hope this finds everyone well and happy.....